Classic Poem

In the beginning they were pure white, the round snowballs on the bushes — as are white and round the breasts of the maiden who has not as yet known of sin .
Later in August they turned rosy — (the sun passionately kissed them with his light,) as the chaste, tender, girlish face is rosy, flushed in her first love .
And now they stand altogether dark brown, yet still they dream on of white and rose ... They calmly sway in the still light, their brown heads drooping heavily on the sere grass .